


there is a certain part of all of us that lives outside of time (most of the time we are ageless)

by kayteedancer



Series: November Challenge 2020 [21]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortality, Oblivious Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Oblivious Jaskier | Dandelion, Realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27667652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayteedancer/pseuds/kayteedancer
Summary: Jaskierlovedthe time he spent traveling with Geralt trekking up and down the continent. Not only did he get to see Geralt slay monsters and help people, but he also got to sleep with some of the most beautiful men and women he had ever seen, and Geralt only had to stop people from killing him for it a handful of times!And all his experiences were perfect songwriting fodder that he turned into songs that continued to make him more and more famous.Her Sweet Kiss, Elaine Ettarial, The Fishmonger’s Daughter, The Stars Above the Path,and of courseToss a Coin to Your Witcher;each an experience Jaskier plucked and polished until it rang brightly in the air, far better than anything Valdo Marx had ever done. Soon enough, Jaskier’s songs were sung in every tavern from Kovir to Nilfgaard. His songs became the standards by which every young Bard was tested, and Jaskier couldn’t help the fierce pride that rose within him at each young voice that sang his words.But suddenly things started to feel…different.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: November Challenge 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1996558
Comments: 10
Kudos: 113





	there is a certain part of all of us that lives outside of time (most of the time we are ageless)

**Author's Note:**

> Day 21 is here! And we have another new fandom: The Witcher 😃😃
> 
> I fell in love with the Netflix tv series and the universe that they brought to life on screen, and while I admittedly think the games were _much_ better, I just couldn't love how they absolutely forgot to age Jaskier in the tv show any more than I already do. It's just...so perfect. So here's my take on how to potentially deal with finding out Jaskier is immortal! ✌🏻
> 
> This installment comes from @alexleeanne on tumblr who wanted a crack-fic of Jaskier figuring out he wasn't aging and absolutely flipping out. While I don't think I quite hit the mark in terms of it being a crack-fic, there is definitely a recognition of immortality and Jaskier flipping out, so I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!!! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> I will continue to say this until I'm blue in the face: I can't thank everyone who's been leaving me kudos and comments and bookmarking all my fics enough. I read and respond to every comment, and I can't tell you all how much it means to me to see how much you're enjoying my writing. Thank you so, so much. ❤️❤️
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this installment, and come say hi on my tumblr (@sleepeatdancedream)! I would love to talk about fandom, writing, or life in general. Or if that's not your speed, feel free to leave a prompt or twelve of your own there!
> 
> On that note, please enjoy Day 21! Title is a quote by Milan Kundera

Jaskier  _ loved _ the time he spent traveling with Geralt trekking up and down the continent. Not only did he get to see Geralt slay monsters and help people, but he also got to sleep with some of the most beautiful men and women he had ever seen, and Geralt only had to stop people from killing him for it a handful of times!

And all his experiences were perfect songwriting fodder that he turned into songs that continued to make him more and more famous.  _ Her Sweet Kiss _ ,  _ Elaine Ettarial _ ,  _ The Fishmonger’s Daughter _ ,  _ The Stars Above the Path _ , and of course  _ Toss a Coin to Your Witcher _ ; each an experience Jaskier plucked and polished until it rang brightly in the air, far better than anything Valdo Marx had ever done. Soon enough, Jaskier’s songs were sung in every tavern from Kovir to Nilfgaard. His songs became the standards by which every young Bard was tested, and Jaskier couldn’t help the fierce pride that rose within him at each young voice that sang his words.

His words on everyone’s lips; Jaskier quite literally couldn’t imagine anything better.

Well, maybe if he found out Valdo Marx really had died from apoplexy.  _ That _ would truly be a triumph.

But while he waited impatiently for that wish to come to pass, Jaskier just kept on enjoying his life, tagging along with Geralt, slipping into and out of beautiful people’s beds, drinking and playing and singing to his heart’s content.

But suddenly things started to feel… _ different _ . Sometimes when he could talk Geralt into staying over at a town for the night, Jaskier would announce his name and sing his songs and there would be...no outward recognition? No exclamations of surprise, no thanking him for his music. The people of the taverns would sing along, of course, Jaskier’s songs were the most recognizable in the continent, but there wasn’t quite the level of... _ hero worship _ that he had grown accustomed to as of late.

Where Jaskier was playing tonight was one such town. As the last notes of  _ Toss a Coin to Your Witcher _ resounded through the tavern, the cheering and laughter and applause came to a quick crescendo before dying out just as quickly, a few grateful patrons pressing a few coins at Jaskier as as an attractive woman with sloe-dark eyes sidled up to him and pressed her breasts into his arm as she dropped a few coins into his hat.

“Wow! You’re so talented,” the woman purred, a heated smile on her lips as she curled the fingers of her hand around Jaskier’s wrist loosely.

Jaskier smiled broadly in response, his eyes sliding down to peek down the woman’s dress before meeting hers with a wink. “Ah! Thank you so much!” he chuckled, swinging his lute behind him as he wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist. “I do love that song, I must say. It’s one of my best!”

The woman laughed loudly, batting her eyes at him. “Oh, yes, I’m sure you’re the  _ great Jaskier _ , the famous bard who follows around the White Wolf Witcher,” the woman cooed, walking her fingers up Jaskier’s chest to play with the ties of his doublet.

Mind slowly clouding with lust, Jaskier tilted his head down to the woman, lips pausing just an inch from her own. “Believe me, my lady, I truly am Jaskier, the world renown Bard of the White Wolf,” he murmured, hot breath fanning over her lips.

The woman’s dark eyes flashed as she slipped her fingers delved beneath cloth to caress his skin. “Tonight, I’ll call you whatever you want, Handsome,” the woman purred as she closed the distance, pressing her lips to his in a way that completely arrested his senses.

To be honest, Jaskier stopped thinking of much of anything after that other than the darkness of her eyes, the softness of her skin, and the warm, wet heat of her mouth.

And if it was a one time occurrence Jaskier wouldn’t pay any mind to it at all, but odd interactions like that just  _ kept happening _ !

It all came to a head one night when he and Geralt were travelling through Aedirn. Jaskier was playing at a tavern while Geralt investigated rumors of a Kikimora in the area, when Jaskier heard the wheezing laugh of someone he would have been ecstatic to never have to interact with  _ ever again _ : Valdo Marx.

He and Valdo had always been rivals; the top of their class at Oxenfurt, well known Bards in their own rights, and both regularly asked back as guest lecturers to the very place they trained at. But while Jaskier was talented at singing and composing and performing, a true triple threat, Valdo Marx was little more than a talentless hack that would steal any half-decent song idea from anyone to avoid doing the work himself.

Now, two things were known to herald Valdo Marx’s arrival to any tavern. One, the scent of bergamot and lemon oil that he rubbed into his hair and beard, and two, that breathy, wheezy laugh that he thought was charming and sophisticated but really made him sound like a dying cow.

Frowning, Jaskier started his final song,  _ The Ballad of the Lion Cub of Cintra _ , always another crowd favorite, as he searched the tavern for the auburn hair and outrageously colored clothing that made up Valdo Marx. By the time his song ended, Jaskier was no closer to finding the Bard in question, though the heated looks and come hither smile an older gentleman was sending him from the bar was enough to put Valdo Marx right out of his mind.

The man’s hair was dark, just silvering at the temples, but his nose was straight and his brown eyes clear and burning as they dragged from Jaskier’s head, to his toes, and back again. The man smirked at Jaskier and titled his head toward the bar in welcome. Smiling brightly, Jaskier flitted over and slid in next to the man. “Hello! My name is Jaskier. And what can I call a good-looking gentleman like yourself?”

The man smiled slowly, eyes glittering as they met Jaskier’s own. “Jaskier, like the famous Bard Jaskier?”

Nodding happily, Jaskier leaned in toward the man as he chirped, “The very one!”

“Bullshit!” a gravelly voice slurred out from behind the man, and Jaskier’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “Tha’s absolute bullshi’” the same voice continued a moment later, and Jaskier sighed in frustration.

Craning around the very handsome gentleman, Jaskier bit out, “I am Jaskier the Bard. And who might you be, sir?”

Just behind the handsome gentleman sat a much older man, hair thin and nearly white as it wisped away from a red, shining forehead. Thick hands with sausage-like fingers curled around a pint as the man tipped its contents down his throat, ale slopping out the sides of his mouth and dampening the neckline of his gaudy pale yellow doublet.

Slamming the empty pint back on the bar and leaning back, Jaskier watched with morbid fascination as the man’s stomach paunch peeked out of the bottom of his ill-fitting doublet.

“‘M Valdo Marx, y’ li’l shit,” the man slurred as he rubbed at his paunch. “Th’  _ actual _ Valdo Marx, no’ some godsdamned copy cat tryin’ to make a livin’ on someone else’s name.” Rolling his head toward Jaskier, the handsome gentleman that had beckoned Jaskier over initially long since gone, eyes milky with age and bloodshot with booze narrowed at him in consideration.

“Though ‘ve gotta say, you’re prolly th’ best lookin’ copycat I’ve seen. You th’ bastard’s son?” the drunken man asked, and Jaskier stared back at the...imposter incredulously.

“I am not a copycat!” Jaskier sputtered indignantly. “I assure you, sir, that I am Jaskier! You’re the one who’s impersonating Valdo Marx.”

A wobbly grin spread over the drunk’s lips as he laughed so loudly the sound filled the entire bar and rattled in Jaskier’s bones. The Bard’s face went pale with shock as he registered the laugh: high-pitched, breathy, wheezing, and as tone-deaf as a dying cow.

Oh.  _ Oh no _ .

“Y’ bastard,” the old, ugly, fat, grey man that was once Jaskier’s rival  _ Valdo Marx _ cursed. “G’ run back t’ your daddy ‘n tell ‘im ol’ Valdo says t’get  _ fucked _ an’ stop sendin’ his spawn out usin’ his godsdamned  _ name _ .”

Jaskier shook his head slowly as he stumbled off the stool away from  _ Valdo Marx _ . Panic began creeping up his throat and turning his vision spotty and dark around the edges as he fumbled blindly for his lute and weaved his way unsteadily toward the exit only to smack into a solid wall of muscle.

Looking up and up and up, Jaskier finally met Geralt’s golden eyes and nearly whined in the back of his throat as he grasped onto the man’s (thankfully blood free) shirt.

“Geralt,” he rasped. “How long have we been travelling together?”

Geralt stared at him silently, a single eyebrow quirking upward as he stared at the distressed Bard. Geralt simply hummed in response, and Jaskier shoved at the man’s shoulder.

“Geralt, I need to know,” he asked desperately, panic coloring his tone. “How long has it been since we started travelling together?!”

Geralt’s brows furrowed in confusion as he scanned the tavern behind Jaskier, searching for whatever it was that had made the Bard so nearly incoherent. “I don’t know, Jaskier,” Geralt rasped, yellow eyes flicking from one drunken face to the next before settling back on Jaskier. “A long time, I’d wager.”

“A long t --  _ a long time!  _ Geralt _ , is that all you can say?!” _ Jaskier hissed. A breathless laugh wheezed out of him as his breath sped faster and faster, his head spinning with the lack of oxygen. “ _ Geralt _ , do I look like I’ve aged _ a fucking day _ since you’ve _ met me? _ ”

Geralt scanned Jaskier quickly, inhaling on a hiss as he came to the conclusion Jaskier had not a moment before. “ _ Fuck _ ,” Geralt grunted, and Jaskier nearly started shrieking with laughter, hysteria forcing tears from his eyes as he struggled to keep it together.

“ _ Fuck,” _ Jaskier repeated breathlessly, his eyes rolling back into his head as he promptly passed out in the Witcher’s arms.


End file.
